


our love was made for movie screens

by Brinny



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Best Friends, Breaking Up & Making Up, F/M, Family Feels, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, I Don't Even Know, Mentions of Betty Brant, Mentions of Gwen Stacy, Mentions of Harry Osborn, Mild Sexual Content, Personal Growth, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:37:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinny/pseuds/Brinny
Summary: Peter has this theory.He thinks that if he and MJ actually start dating, like in a way that’s defined and serious, where Peter is her boyfriend and he calls MJ his girlfriend, that everything will just become too intense and all consuming. Like he’s hydrogen and she’s oxygen and once there’s a spark, they’ll explode into a fire that they’ll never be able to put out.When he texts all of this to Ned, his phone immediately lights up with a response of:DUDE. Seriously? Can u 2 just bone already?[Basically Peter and MJ growing up, growing apart, and then back together. I think. Yes. That's what this is.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was basically a monster that got away from me. I don't even know what I originally set out for this fic to be. True story. And because it kept growing, I've re-read it so many times and added and taken out so many things, that I'm honestly not even sure if it's good anymore. 
> 
> Title is from _All I Want_ by Kodaline. 
> 
> And there's a bonus chapter/epilogue that's just kind of Peter hanging out with the Avengers, because it didn't fit into the actual story, but I wrote it and I liked it, so I thought I'd share. More notes about that on that chapter.

 

 

 

Peter and MJ sort of casually date during senior year.

Both of them refuse to admit that they’re in an actual relationship, insisting that they’re just good friends. He takes her to the movies (and homecoming and prom) and they play video games and make out in his bedroom after school.

And once, when his aunt isn’t home, MJ lets Peter undo the button on her jeans and sneak his hand past her panties and between her legs. She is about to return the favor, her fingers already tugging at his zipper, when they can hear the sound of May’s key in the door.

MJ shrugs and mouths, “Sorry.”

“Nah.” Peter shakes his head and, after tucking a curl behind her ear, presses a kiss to her temple. “It’s okay.”

MJ re-buttons her pants and Peter wipes his wet fingers on the sheets and, the next week, it’s back to just movies, video games, and making out.

 

 

 

 

Sometimes Peter will take Gwen Stacy to the arcade or to a football game and sometimes MJ will fool around with Harry Osborn in the back of his car.

But after walking Gwen home, Peter will still end up on the train to MJ’s apartment. And after MJ closes the door on Harry’s Audi, she will still end up on the stoop of her building waiting for Peter.    

And when she sees him walking down her street, she’ll laugh and pretend to be surprised and say, “Hey, nerd. Just in the neighborhood?”

And he’ll smile and greet her with a kiss.

 

 

 

 

(Peter has this theory.

He thinks that if he and MJ actually start dating, like in a way that’s defined and serious, where Peter is her boyfriend and he calls MJ his girlfriend, that everything will just become too intense and all consuming. Like he’s hydrogen and she’s oxygen and once there’s a spark, they’ll explode into a fire that they’ll never be able to put out.

When he texts all of this to Ned, his phone immediately lights up with a response of: _DUDE. Seriously? Can u 2 just bone already?_ )

 

 

  

 

It isn’t until the last week of high school that it suddenly occurs to them that this is it.

It’s as if they hadn’t realized that they won’t be seeing each other in the hallways every day. They can’t sneak kisses between classes anymore. MJ won’t be able to leave books, margins filled with her hastily scribbled notes, for him in his locker. Peter can’t hold her hand beneath the lunch table as they share a soda.

And if they don’t do something about it now, they never will.  

So, the summer before they leave for college, they decide to make up for all the time they wasted and their relationship catapults into overdrive.

Hydrogen, oxygen, spark. 

 

 

 

 

It turns out that Peter was totally right about them being explosive. 

Once they start having sex, it’s like they can’t stop.

Peter keeps condoms everywhere (his backpack, his wallet, his nightstand, his pockets) and MJ starts wearing more skirts, so she can sit in his lap and he can easily unbuckle, unzip, and then slide inside of her.

 

 

 

 

(Peter’s never been in love before, but he’s pretty sure this is what it feels like.) 

 

 

 

 

When they’re not having sex, they literally can’t keep their hands off each other.

Sitting next to each other on the sofa (MJ doodling in her notebook and Peter reading a comic book), she keeps her fingers tucked in his hair and scratches at his scalp, while he holds a hand high on her thigh, squeezing gently.  

Walking to the store, they hold hands with their fingers tightly knit together, even though it’s hot and their palms are slick with sweat. At the crosswalk, Peter lays soft kisses down her neck until the light turns green.

Watching a movie with his aunt, the two of them share the armchair. MJ stays nestled against his chest with one hand held on his hip and Peter’s arm hangs across her shoulders, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair.

(When they do this watching movies with Ned, he looks over at them, shakes his head, and, through a mouthful of popcorn, says, “You two really need to get a room. One that I’m not in. With a door. That locks.”)

 

 

 

 

Peter gathers up a handful of her hair and leans down to press his mouth to her bare shoulder. She moves into the touch, reaching behind her to gently cup his cheek. 

“Hey, MJ?” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I think, I think you’re my best friend.”

“Dude!” she exclaims through a laugh. She gives his face a light and playful tap.  “You’re really gonna do Leeds like that? That’s cold.”

Peter laughs with her, grabbing her hand and kissing her palm. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean. And same.”

 

 

 

 

May leans over the back of the sofa and hands Peter a plate with a, slightly burnt, grilled cheese. He’s pulling off a string of gooey cheddar when she asks, “You’re being careful, right Pete?”

“Yeah, no worries, May. It’s not that hot.”

“I meant with Michelle,” she says, laughing. With a quick ruffle of his hair, she asks again, “You being careful?”

His cheeks burn pink and he manages to stammer out, “Um, yes? We, um, we use a couple of, like, we use the appropriate, you know, things to be, uh, safe.”

She laughs even louder and Peter can feel the heat from his face creep down to his neck. He adores May, but these types of conversations have always been kind of difficult and he tries not to think about how this talk would have went with Ben. Of course, maybe it would have been just as awkward to tell his uncle _yes_ , _MJ is on the pill_ and _yes, we use condoms_.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. I was just a little worried that you two were rushing some things,” she says. Leaning a bit further over the sofa, she puts her hand on Peter’s chest and rubs at the spot where his heart is. “Make sure you’re being careful here, too. Okay?”

Peter smiles at her softly, nodding. He thinks that he’ll probably always miss Uncle Ben, but he’s happy that he and May have each other.

“Thanks,” he tells her.

“Anytime,” she says. Patting his shoulder, she quickly kisses his forehead and then stands up. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you back.”

 

 

 

 

In the fall, Peter goes to NYU and loads up on a bunch of first year science courses. MJ ends up at Columbia, where her mom is a professor, and focuses on journalism.

It’s difficult to see each other as often as they’d like, but they manage.

They have coffee/study dates where they consume enough caffeine to stay up all night, reviewing each other’s work for mistakes and binging bad romantic comedies on Netflix. 

Nights they don’t have to study, are spent in MJ’s small twin-sized bed in her on-campus housing or Peter’s small twin-sized bed in the dorm room he shares with Ned.

They have lunch dates in the park, holding hands as they walk and talk, or sitting under trees while they read to each other. (Kind of like the montages in all those bad romantic comedies that they binge on Netflix.)

 

 

 

 

On one date night, Peter swings him and MJ up to the top of the Queensboro Bridge during sunset. He packs a small picnic for them to snack on (sandwiches, chips, chocolate milk, cookies) and nervously holds her hand as they stare out at Roosevelt Island and the Manhattan skyline.

“Wow. Peter, this is impressive.”

Peter beams. “You think?”

MJ leans in and kisses his cheek. “Yes. Very.”

“Michelle?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Aww,” she coos. Laughing, she grabs onto the collar of his suit and drags his mouth towards hers. Just before she kisses him, her lips brushing over his, she says, “I love you too, dork.”

 

 

 

 

To: peter.parker@nyu.edu

From: michjones@columbia.edu

Subject: Pants

 

Tonight’s date shall be sans pants. No pants allowed.

Please dress (or undress) appropriately.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

 

 

 

 

To: michjones@columbia.edu

From: peter.parker@nyu.edu

Subject: Re: Pants

 

God, I love you.

 

 

 

 

When Peter and MJ are in their sophomore year, Happy flies May out to the Bahamas for a vacation, so Peter and MJ spend their spring break in the empty apartment having the kind of loud, obnoxious sex that’s impossible to do when you have roommates. They order stacks of take-out (Italian, Chinese, and Ethiopian) and barely leave the bedroom, unless it’s to get more food or use the bathroom.

And the day before they have to be back at school, they make love, slow and lazy, taking the time to explore each other with their hands and mouths (also impossible to do when you have roommates) until they’re both sticky and sated.

After, MJ pulls on one of Peter’s discarded t-shirts and sits on the edge of the bed, combing her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. When she leans down to place a kiss on his forehead, he tugs her down on top of him.

“Oof,” she says with a smile. Wiggling against him, she lifts a teasing brow, and says, “Dude. Your recovery time is, like, crazy. That a you thing or a spider thing?”  

Peter hopes that his already flushed face hides the sudden blush that rushes to his cheeks and then tries to move so he isn’t pressing into her hip. He doesn’t answer her question, because he’s honestly not sure, and who would he even ask about that? and tells her, “We don’t have to do anything. We can just lay here.”

“Mm, yeah. This is nice.”

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “Yeah, it is.”

He hugs her a bit tighter as she walks her fingers up and down his arm.

“You wanna get married?” she asks.

“What? You want to get married? What? When? Now?” He tries to tamp down the panic in his voice. It’s not like he doesn’t love Michelle. He does. Like, a lot. A scary amount even. But they’re still in school. Peter’s only doing his undergrad. “Not now? Right?”

MJ rolls her eyes. “No, not now. Quit your freak out. I meant more in general.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure,” he says. ”What about you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, historically marriage was an institution that perpetuated patriarchal oppression and forced gender inequality.”

“Huh,” he comments thoughtfully, because it’s not like she’s wrong. So, he takes a guess, “You don’t want to get married?”

“Well, it does come with some pretty sweet tax benefits.”

“Oh. Sure.” 

Peter nods, even though he really doesn’t know exactly what kind of tax savings you get being a married couple.

“I’m messing with you, Peter,” she says. She smiles up at him. “Maybe someday I’d at least consider getting married.”

“Okay,” he says. He tips her chin up, kissing her mouth. “Maybe someday I’ll ask you.”

“Or maybe I’ll ask you.”

He laughs and kisses her again. He’s totally okay with that.

 

 

 

 

“Don’t move,” MJ instructs. Of course, the first thing Peter does is move to look up at her. She’s standing above him with her camera held up to her face and a frown on her mouth. “I told you not to move.”

“You know, if you didn’t say anything at all, I wouldn’t have moved.”

“Stop with your logic and go back to being cute,” she tells him.

He laughs and returns to studying for his final, his chin resting in one hand and a pen held in the other. MJ leans over to push his hair back into his face. 

“Perfect,” she says.  

 

 

 

 

“Hey. How was your day?”

“Weird. Some dude in a rhino costume chased me for, like, twenty blocks.” Peter pulls off his mask and leans down to kiss her cheek. “How about you?”

“I got yelled at for making coffee wrong.”

“How’d you make coffee wrong?”

MJ doesn’t even look up at him, just slowly raises her middle finger in his direction.

 

 

 

 

After they graduate, they rent a one bedroom in Central Harlem. It doesn’t have air conditioning and the pipe beneath the bathroom sink leaks, but there’s a fair amount of natural light and an exposed brick wall and, most of all, it’s affordable.

The week they move in, the city is going through one of the worst heatwaves on record, so Peter suggests opening the windows, hopeful that they’ll be rewarded with a light breeze. But after lugging heavy boxes from the rented U-Haul into their place, both of them are sticky with sweat, and it’s clear that all the open windows are doing is inviting the thick, muggy air inside.

Tired from the heat and unpacking, they decide to just lay the bare mattress down on the floor in the middle of the bedroom and worry about the bedframe and sheets later.

“So, you’re sure that you don’t have super Spidey speed, huh?” MJ asks.

Peter laughs. “Um, yeah. Pretty sure.” And then after a pause, “Are spiders known for being speedy?”

“They, you know, sort of,” she says, giving a quick wiggle of her fingers, “scurry.”

“Oh yeah?” he says.

“Mmhmm.”

He laughs and plants a kiss on her nose, then playfully wrestles her down to the mattress as she squirms and squeals in protest. She keeps moving beneath him, all sweet friction, until he can feel himself growing hard, and he uses one hand to pin her arms above her head. MJ looks up at him, smiling.

In the distance, there’s the sounds of a storm starting, a low rumble of thunder and rain splashing against the pavement.

And when Peter kisses her slowly, it feels like falling in love all over again.  

 

 

 

 

Michelle’s photographs are the first thing to decorate their new place. Portraits of Peter and Stan, their elderly rescue cat, hang on the walls in between stunning black and white prints of the city.

When May comes to visit, she brings them a potted cactus as a house-warming gift.

“Impossible to kill,” she proclaims.

It’s dead within six weeks.

 

 

 

 

Right out of college, MJ starts working for _The Daily Bugle_ as a staff writer. She does some freelance photography on the side, mostly artsy snapshots that she’s able to sell for a decent price, but occasionally she submits photos that the paper allows to run alongside her articles. 

For the first few months, her editor gives her a lot of local soft pieces. Like the twins down in alphabet city who are turning 100 and a dog who accompanies his owner to the barber shop to get his own haircut and some kid who opens up a charity lemonade stand. That sort of stuff.

But things change when _The Bugle_ publishes her first article about Spider-Man. New York is attacked by space creatures (again) and the Avengers swoop in to save the day (again), but this time they have the city’s newest superhero swinging in with them. MJ gets an amazing action shot of Spidey dangling from a web, mid-air, and his foot colliding with a weapon-wielding alien.

Watching everything unfold, she’s terrified for Peter. Like, heart stuck in her throat, terrified. And when she writes about it later, her feelings of paralyzing fear, followed by the intense relief when the good guys win the day, leak onto the page. The piece reads as immensely empathetic and relatable and ends up being one of the biggest stories of the year.

So much so, that a few days later, she gets a call from a former colleague who wants to know if she’s interested in working with the Associated Press overseas. She lets him know that she’ll think about it and tells Peter about the offer over dinner.

“Is that something you want to do?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says. She pokes at a piece of tofu with the end of her chopstick. “I think so. I want to make a difference, you know?”

Peter can feel his brow wrinkle up in confusion as he asks, “And you don’t feel like you do that now? Here?”

“No, not really.” Her tofu cube has crumbled into little bits from her repeated poking. “Not like you do.”

“MJ,” he says, softly. He reaches across the table to grab her hand and she lets him lace their fingers together. “You know we’re a team, right? Me and you? There’s not a Spider-Man without a Michelle Jones. I don’t even know if there’s a Peter Parker without you.”

“Peter, that’s really sweet. In a kind of co-dependant sort of way. Which is why I think this is something I need to do on my own. And there’s so much terrible stuff going on in other parts of the world that no one even knows about.”

“Okay. Yeah, no. I understand.” He nods and then tries to force a smile, because he wants to show that he’s being supportive, but he thinks his mouth twists into something that looks more like a grimace. “So, if you’re not here, what does that mean for us?”

MJ untangles her hand from his. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

He’s pretty sure he’s going to be sick.

“No! No, Pete, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says. “We’ll do long distance or whatever. I’ll visit a lot. I’m just not sure how everything will work. But we’ll figure something out. Promise.”

His mouth sort of cooperates this time and the smile he gives her is genuine, but tight. “Yeah, of course.”

 

 

 

 

She falls asleep with her head tucked against his shoulder and Peter absently rubs his fingers over the bare skin of her hip as he watches her breathe. If she hears back from her editor this week, she could be gone as soon as next month. How is he supposed to sleep without her?

Selfishly he thinks, _Please don’t go. Don’t leave me_. _Stay here, just like this_. _Please_.  

 

 

 

 

One morning, about a week before she’s scheduled to leave on her assignment, MJ walks into the kitchen and, after pouring herself a glass of orange juice, lifts herself up onto the counter and says, “I’m late.”

Peter, who is busy shoving a handful of papers into his backpack, tries to speak over the pencil that he’s tucked between his teeth. “Erm, eah. Eee, oo.”

He zips his bag shut and grabs the last strawberry Pop-Tart from the box, ready to race out the door.

“No, Pete,” she says. “I’m late.”

The pencil falls from his mouth and the Pop-Tart slips out of his fingers and lands on the hardwood floor with a very pathetic _fwop_ , cracking into pieces.

“Oh,” he says. He looks up at MJ and tries to read her face, wanting to know if he should be happy or sad. Wanting to know if she’s happy or sad. But she only stares back at him, quietly taking small sips of her juice before placing the glass in the sink. So, he asks, “Is this a good thing? This could be a good thing, right? Tell me what I should be feeling.”

MJ shrugs. “You feel what you feel, Parker.”

With a sigh, Peter goes to stand between her open legs, his arms on either side of her hips. And when she lifts her hand to push a piece of hair off his face, he turns his head and places a light kiss on the inside of her wrist. She gives him a sad smile and tucks her fingers against his neck, her thumb rubbing circles behind his ear.  

“How about you? How are you feeling?” he asks, softly.

“Like it’s not the right time.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Okay, yeah. That’s true. Timing could be better. But it’s also not the worst thing, right? Even if the timing sucks? You and me and a baby? That could be good.”

“Peter, I’m still going to go. No matter what the outcome, I’m still going to go.”

He’s about to ask her how she thinks she’s going to manage morning sickness or being heavily pregnant and flung into dangerous situations like active warzones or terrorist attacks, when he suddenly understands what she’s saying. No matter the outcome, she’s still going to go, because no matter the outcome, she’s not going to be pregnant.

He takes her hand off his neck and moves to sit down on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Pete? Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad,” he tells her, shaking his head. Which is a lie, because he’s definitely at least a little bit mad. He’s mad and he’s frustrated and he’s upset. And more than anything, he feels like crying. Instead, he wipes at his still-dry eyes, swallows down the hard lump that’s forming in the back of his throat, and says, “I’ll call Dr. Octavius and see if I can get the day off. We can go get a test. Find out for sure. And either way, we’ll go from there.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says. She nods. “Thanks.”

Peter doesn’t say anything after that, so MJ hops off the counter and crouches down to scoop up the broken Pop-Tart pieces into her open hand. She takes a long time, her body turned away from him and bent low to the floor with her fingers pressing into the crumbs, making sure nothing is left behind, which is when Peter realizes that he’s not the only one who’s trying to hold back tears. He gets up to hug her from behind, his arms wrapped tightly around her middle and his chin resting on her shoulder.

“I love you,” he says.

“Yeah. I love you, too.”

He kisses the top of her ear. “No matter what.”

 

 

 

 

She’s not pregnant.

Three boxes, two tests to a box, all of them negative.

Peter is ashamed of the relief that he feels at the row of single lines that stare back at them.

He had always imagined this moment differently. Michelle would tell him that there was a possibility she could be pregnant. Peter would laugh and lift her into his arms, happily swinging her around. They would sit and wait, with nervous smiles, hoping that the test would come out positive. And they would be so excited to have a baby, all small and theirs, with her curls and his nose.

MJ looks at him and says, “So, not pregnant.”

“False alarm,” he agrees.

She takes his hand. “Did you want, were you, uh, hoping for something different?”

“No. No, you’re right. We’re not in a place for that,” he says. “I’m in grad school and you’re starting your career. We don’t even have two bedrooms here. But someday, maybe, yeah.”

“And if I didn’t want someday?”

He thinks about his happy little fantasy and wonders if any of that will happen now.

Peter sighs. “Then that’s something we’ll have to talk about, I guess.”

“Okay. Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Sure. I mean, yeah, we can,” he says. He looks down at their joined hands, stroking his thumb back and forth over hers. “I already told you it’s something I want someday. And it sounds like it’s not something you want someday?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You don’t seem sure about a lot of things lately.”

“That’s not fair.”

MJ lets go of Peter’s hand and walks out of the small bathroom and into the bedroom. Peter follows her and he’s not sure if it’s out of concern or if it’s because he wants to pick a fight.

“Come on, MJ. You’re not sure about a job that keeps you in New York. You’re not sure how we’re going to do long distance. You’re not sure if you want kids.”

She crosses her arms tightly over her chest. “We’ve never even talked about kids before.”

“I didn’t think we had to.”

“Of course we have to, Peter. How did you see our future together? Me, pregnant at twenty-two, stuck at home, while you’re off Spider-Manning every night?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he says. And then, softly, he jokes, “I like that you made it into a verb.”

“Pete.”

“Okay, right. Not the time.” He sighs heavily and flops down onto the bed. “I just thought that we were on the same page about our lives. About starting a family. Sometime. Down the road. I thought that was something we both wanted.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want that or that I never thought about it. I just don’t think I have all the answers right now. I’m still trying to figure out who I am.”

“I guess I just hoped who you were included me.”

“It does, Peter,” she insists. She sits down beside him and runs her fingers through his hair. “I just don’t know how yet.

         

 

 

 

That night, instead of going to bed, Peter slips on his suit and goes out on patrol. Early on, he stops a mugging and a robbery, but the city seems to be quiet otherwise. He spends most of his time sitting on rooftop ledges and thinking about MJ leaving and about how they’re going to make it all work.

He doesn’t come back until the sun starts to come up and, when he climbs through the window, their bedroom is lit in soft oranges and pinks.

Michelle is awake. Waiting for him, maybe. Thinking about him and her and them, like he was, maybe.

(And with her dark curls against the white sheets and the light from the dawn making her cheeks glow, Peter thinks that she looks sort of angelic. But he keeps the smile on his mouth hidden, because he’s not sure she’d like the comparison.) 

Changing into a t-shirt and sweatpants, he climbs under the blankets and pulls her into his arms. She turns herself around, so her back fits neatly against his front, and strokes the back of his wrist with the tips of her fingers.

“Pete?” she asks.

He sleepily kisses the top of her shoulder. “Hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she says. “Maybe we should take a break while I’m gone.”

“A break?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” she says. Her fingers keep moving in circles on his arm. “Like a break from us.”

“I—oh. Okay. If that, if that’s what you want?”

“This first assignment is only for a month. Maybe two, depending. We could take the time apart to think about everything. Figure out what we want in the future. I need, I need some time to figure me out, too. We can’t be in this together if I don’t know who I am alone.”

“Sure. I get that,” he says.

“I’ll always love you. You know that, right?”

“Yes. Of course, I know that. I’ll always love you, too.”

He holds her a little closer, burying his nose in her hair, and slides his hand beneath her shirt. Using his thumb, he traces the curve of her breast.

“And we’ll still be friends,” she says and it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. Which Peter tries not to find terrifying. “Right?”

“Always,” he tells her. “We’re always going to be friends, MJ.”

She nods and takes his hand out from under her shirt. For a moment, Peter thinks that she’s mad at him (maybe for leaving her at home, while he went out Spider-Manning), but then she brings his fingers down past the elastic of her underwear and pushes his hand down lower, until he can slip two fingers inside of her. She lets him work in and out of her like that, with the heel of his palm rubbing against her. 

It doesn’t take long for him to get hard as he feels her on the edge of it all, how wet and messy she’s getting and how she keeps tightening around his fingers. And just as she’s about to let go, she tugs his sweats down and moves her panties to the side, guiding him into her so she can come all over him. 

“Oh. Oh god,” he hisses. 

He strokes her through it, slow and deep, but then he has to quickly pull out, before he accidentally finishes inside of her. MJ just kneels over him to take his length in her mouth, swallowing him down. Peter’s head falls back against the pillow and he closes his eyes.

Yeah, a break seems like the worst idea ever.

 

 

 

 

_MJ left._

**_u ok?_ **

_No._

**_coming over. bringing star wars._ **

_Thanks, Ned._

**_i gotchu, bro._ **

 

 

 

 

The first couple of weeks without MJ are kind of rough.

There’s one time (that Peter doesn’t like to talk about) where there isn’t any food in the fridge and he’s sick of ordering take-out, so he shares a can of tuna with Stan, feeding the cat bites off his fork.

“It’s just you and me now, bud.”

Stan meows back at him, then paws at the can and dips his head down to grab a few chunks with his teeth.

“Dude,” Peter says. He stabs a flaked piece of fish with his fork. “That’s our dinner. C’mon, man. Don’t hog it.”

 

 

 

 

Michelle messages him at strange hours, often in the middle of the night, because it’s 10:00 a.m. in Jerusalem or 8:30 a.m. in Paris and 2:00 p.m. in Thailand. Her texts are usually brief and somewhat impersonal, everything reading like something you would write on the back of a postcard to a distant relative.

_Had the best shakshuka yesterday. So good._

_Did you know there’s five Statues of Liberty here? Crazy, right?_

_Dude, sorry I haven’t texted in awhile. Super busy. Hope things are good. Tell May I said hi._

 

Peter remembers the late night texts he used to get from her. How they were painfully honest and intimate.

_I wish your mouth was on me._

_Can’t wait until you’re inside me again._

_When you get home, I’m gonna make you come so hard._

He remembers when she was at Columbia and how his phone would buzz with big blocks of text, excerpts and paragraphs from essays she was writing where she wanted his opinion on her arguments.

He remembers when they were friends back in high school and “not dating”, how she would send him lines from poetry books that reminded her of him.

What he can’t remember is why he agreed to taking a break from their relationship. He can’t remember how they used to just be friends and went minutes and hours and days without touching each other.

 

 

 

 

Peter messages her back using way too many exclamation points, overcompensating for how not excited that he is that her one, maybe two, month assignment, has turned into four.

_Shakshuka sounds amazing!!!!_

_That’s sooooo crazy!!!!! Did you visit them all??!!!_

_Things are good here!! May says “Hi” back!_

 

And part of him wants to text how he’s really feeling.

_(I think we made a mistake. I don’t want to be on a break. I just want to be with you._

_I miss you. When are you coming home?_

_I love you, Michelle. No matter what._ )

But he’s scared that if he does, he won’t get the answers that he wants.

 

 

 

 

One night, May stops by with Thai food and a stack of Ben’s old records.

She takes one look at Peter, with his unwashed hair and spaghetti-o stained pajama bottoms, and drops everything on the counter to pull him into a hug.

“Oh, kiddo. How you doing?”

“Hey, May.” His voice is muffled against her shirt and, when he sniffles, he resists the urge to wipe his nose on her shoulder, like he used to do when he was little. “I’m doing okay.”

She pulls back and holds his face in her hands. “Of course you’re okay. Because we have pad phet and David Bowie.”

He laughs. “Thanks for coming over.”

May tips his head down, so she can kiss the top of his hair, and says, “You’re gonna be just fine, sweetheart. I mean, after you shower. That would be good for both of us, really.”

Peter laughs again and presses a quick kiss to her cheek before going into the bathroom to turn on the shower. And as he stands under the hot spray, he can hear the opening guitars of _Suffragette City_ and he smiles to himself. Because Aunt May’s right. He’s going to be just fine.

 

 

 

 

To: peter.parker@nyu.edu

From: m.jones@dailybugle.com

Subject: (no subject)

 

Hey Pete,

How’s it going?

So, super weird, but my co-worker, JJ, asked me out. I didn’t give him an answer, because I wasn’t sure if we were seeing other people?

I know we’re on a break, but for the sake of clarity (and, moreover, not wanting to have our life play out like a 90s sitcom), are we seeing other people?

 

-MJ

 

 

 

 

To: m.jones@dailybugle.com

From: peter.parker@nyu.edu

Subject: Re: (no subject)

 

Hi MJ,

You realize this makes you Ross, right?

 

 

 

To: peter.parker@nyu.edu

From: m.jones@dailybugle.com

Subject: Re: Re: (no subject)

 

Peter, there are not enough words to describe how much you suck.

 

-MJ

 

PS: I said yes to the date. Is that okay? Because if you and I are doing the friends thing (and not the _Friends_ thing), then dating other people seems not off limits? Am I wrong about that?

 

 

 

 

To: m.jones@dailybugle.com

From: peter.parker@nyu.edu

Subject: Re: Re: Re: (no subject)

 

Have fun on your date, MJ.

 

 

 

 

“So, apparently, we’re seeing other people now.”

“You’re seeing someone?” Ned asks through the phone. “Since when? Isn’t all her stuff still at your place? That’s weird, dude.”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Peter clarifies. “And, I mean, it just didn’t make sense for MJ to rent a storage locker or whatever. She’s coming back. Eventually. Besides, if we divided everything up, I don’t think I’d have any furniture.”

“So, let me get this straight, MJ is dating? But you’re not?”

“Right,” he confirms. “Although, I guess it means I could date someone. If I wanted to.”

“Wouldn’t that make you guys, like, broken up versus being on a break?”

Peter wipes a hand down his face. “I don’t know, man. We’re calling it a break.”

“You two are so confusing. You guys dated each other forever and kept saying that you weren’t actually dating. And now that you are dating each other, you’re actually dating other people, because you’re on a break? That’s messed up.”

And he can’t really deny that, so all he says is, “Yep.”

 

 

 

 

_I saw you on the news. Or I guess I saw Spider-Man on the news._

**_I made the international circuit? Sweet!_ **

_Who’s the girl?_

**_The girl? What girl? Oh, you mean Black Cat? Bad news. I think. Maybe. Civilian name: Felicia Hardy. Still doing some background on her._ **

_Okay. Well, be careful._

**_How hard was it for you not to make a “Bye, Felicia” joke right then?_ **

_You have no idea._

**_Proud of your restraint._ **

_Speaking of cats, can you please give Stan a pat from me?_

**_Sure thing. TTYL._ **

 

 

 

 

When Peter gets hit by one of Green Goblin’s explosive pumpkin bombs, he ends up in the hospital.

(Turns out that his spider-sense doesn’t work well if the blowing-things-up-bombs are preceded by the mind-whammy-gas-bombs. It also turns out that accelerated healing only goes so far when incendiary devices are involved.)

Ned texts MJ to let her know about the explosion (and, maybe, makes it sound a little like Peter almost died) and his phone immediately rings with a FaceTime request.

Peter’s vision is a bit blurry and his left eye is swollen almost shut, so it takes him a few seconds to focus on her face through the cracked phone screen. Her usually wild curls are braided back off her face and there’s no way for her to hide the concerned frown on her mouth.

“Oh, my god. Pete? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. And he thinks that she might have even believed him, if he didn’t groan in pain when he said it. Instead, she rolls her eyes, so he amends it to, “I’ll be fine.”

“How is it that I’m here, but you’re the one who’s narrowly escaping bombs?”

“Oh, there was no escape. It hit me full on. Funny how life works, huh?” he croaks out.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Should I come home?”

Peter can feel his heart quicken at the suggestion, and he wants to say, _yes, yes get on the next flight_ , but he just asks, “You figure everything out, yet?”

“I’m getting there.”

He gives her a small smile. “Then I’ll see you soon, MJ.”

 

 

 

 

 

MJ doesn’t come back to New York for another three months.

Peter spots her at Betty Brant’s New Years party, standing in the corner sipping on a glass of champagne. She looks back at him over the rim of her glass and smiles. And he wants to be mad at her for not telling him that she was going to be in town, but it’s been so long since he’s seen her outside of anything other than a low-resolution video chat, that he doesn’t even care.

“Hey, Parker!” she calls out.

“Hey, nerd,” he says with a smile. “You just in the neighborhood?”

And Michelle laughs and it’s like she never left.

 

 

 

 

At midnight, he kisses her, like really kisses her, up against the wall with his hands tangled in her hair and his thigh wedged between hers. And then he asks her to come back to his place.

“That a good idea, Pete?”

“Probably not,” he says, but keeps his hand cupped around her neck, so he can lower his mouth down to her ear, “I’ll call a cab.”

 

It’s strange having her back at the apartment.

When her assignment was first extended, MJ sent for some of her things, but Peter packed up the rest of her stuff in boxes and piled them in an unused corner of the living room.

(Once, he brought home this cute NYPD police officer that he’d gone out on a few dates with and, after she eyed up the stack of boxes with the name _Michelle_ written on the sides, she ended the night with a sad smile.)

Michelle’s the only girl he’s brought here since.

She stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and hip pressed against the doorframe. “You took my photos down.”

“I, uh, yeah,” he says. He scratches at the back of his neck and keeps his eyes down, so he doesn’t have to look at her, worried that his face will give away that he packed them up a few days after she left, because he couldn’t stand looking at them. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No. No, it’s okay.” She waves a hand through the air. “I get it.” 

“You can come in,” he says, throwing his keys down onto the counter and gesturing inside. MJ nods and closes the door behind her, so he adds, “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.”

“I guess May hasn’t been by to guilt you into cleaning?” she teases.

“Fuuuunny. And no, she’s been busy.” He ducks into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator, calling out over his shoulder, “Uh, I don’t have any champagne or wine to keep the night going. But I have beer.”

“Beer’s good,” she says.

He comes back with two, uncapped bottles and they sit awkwardly on the lumpy sofa, surrounded by yesterday’s takeout containers and all of the _Michelle_ boxes. The silence between them stretches out so long that Peter drains half his drink by the time MJ speaks.

“It feels like forever since we’ve done this.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time,” he says. “When did you get back?”

“Yesterday,” she answers. He watches as she fiddles with the label on her bottle, pulling up the edges. “Was it a dick move that I didn’t tell you? ‘Cause it feels like it might have been a dick move, but I also thought it might be a nice surprise. I kind of assumed you’d be at the party.”

“Well, it was definitely a surprise,” he says. He braces himself for his next question. “So, you in New York for good now?”

“Yep. That’s the plan.” She keeps picking at the label, ripping it off into thin ribbons, before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. With a shrug, she says, “Turns out there’s a lot of terrible stuff happening right here in the city that people need to know about.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks. He sets his beer down next to hers and his mouth teases into a smile. “Who knew?”

“Yeah, who knew?” she repeats, returning the smile.

Peter touches his fingers to the inside of her elbow and, when she doesn’t pull away, gently curls his hand around her arm. “I’m glad you’re back, MJ.”

“Me too. But I’m also glad that I went. I learned a lot. About myself more than anything.”

“That’s good. That’s really good. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” she says. She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, worrying it with her teeth, and asks, “Are you mad that I left?”

“I was,” he admits, nodding his head. He strokes her arm down to her wrist and then to her open palm, drawing shapes with his fingers. “I get why you did it, though. And I think it was good for us. In a way.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what’d you learn?”

“I mean, it sounds lame, but mostly that this is my home.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah. New York and this apartment,” she says. She looks around at the now, bare walls, then back at him, smiling softly. “And you.”

Peter leans forward and kisses her, pressing his mouth to hers, all breathless and desperate.  “You were always my home, MJ.”

“Oh, Pete. Wow.” Making a face, she brings a hand up to cover her laugh. “That is exceptionally corny.”

“What? You started it.”

MJ concedes this with a nod and then wraps her fingers around his tie so she can pull him towards her for another kiss.

“Hey, Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“And I take it back. This was a great idea.”

 

 

 

 

Peter and MJ start to sort of casually date again.

Neither of them call it a relationship, but MJ moves back in. Her boxes get unpacked and her photos are hung up on the wall. They watch movies and play video games and cook dinner together.

And once, after having lazy sex on the sofa, Peter says, “Wasn’t I going to ask you to marry me someday?”

“That seems like something you would say,” she says, nodding in agreement. Then she narrows her eyes and asks, “Why? Is today that day?”

“Oh, today is definitely that day.” He nods back and softly mouths at her neck, sweetly kissing his way up to her jaw. “Michelle, will you marry me?”

“What?” she pushes him off her, laughing. “Peter, no. I was joking. We’re not getting married.”

“Okay, but I’m going to ask you again someday.”

She smiles. “Maybe I’ll ask you.”

He kisses her and there it is:

Hydrogen, oxygen, spark.


	2. Bonus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to, somehow, fit into the fic. But that was when I was actually going to write, like, an actual wedding. I think. Of note: there's reference to Ned's wedding, because, at one point, in one of the many drafts of the fic, he was engaged to Betty and they were planning a wedding. There was going to be some awkward MJ/Peter mishaps, due to them being thrown together at things like engagement parties and stuff of the like while they were still broken up/on a break, but the fic didn't shake out that way, so maybe that's something that will be written in the future. 
> 
> Also of note: Other than trailers, I'm 100% spoiler free for Endgame, but I'm speculating that both Cap and Tony eat it (that was crass, I'm tired...) and therefore they do not appear in this future setting. However, I also just don't mention them, so I mean, you can totally pretend they're still alive and well, just not at this particular team meeting. This is also why this isn't tagged for character death.

Peter swings into the Tower’s conference room through the window, stuffing his suit into his backpack. He apologizes for being late (although, neither T’Challa or Scott seem to be here yet) and slides into an empty chair next to Nat and across from Clint. 

“Petey, you made it. What was so important that you missed the last briefing?” Clint asks, brows raised. Barton is the only person who he lets call him Petey, although, to be fair, Clint might also be the only person who’s ever tried. “You’re not cheating on us again with Richards and his crew, right?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I helped them out a couple of times. I don’t think they’ll be changing their name to the Fantastic Five anytime soon.”

Sam nods his head in Bucky’s direction, but looks at Peter. “You think he could take out the Thing?”

Peter doesn’t get a chance to answer, because Dr. Banner chimes in with, “I could run the math. But it depends on what you mean by ‘take-out’. Are we talking temporary incapacitation or were you positing whether or not Bucky’s metal arm combined with the super serum could actually punch through the rock formation of Mr. Grimm’s body?”

“Why not both?” Sam asks. 

Rhodey leans over the table and whispers into Peter’s ear, “This is what you missed by the way. Last time, there was a debate on whether or not Strange would be able to lift Stormbreaker using magic.”

Clint, of all people, hears this and says, “Even if he could, it still wouldn’t count.”

“Why not?” Carol asks. “Isn’t the axe just spelled up for whoever is worthy? It’s magic too, right?”

“Magic is not that easily definable,” says Wanda. At the same time, Thor loudly protests, “My axe is not magic.”

Peter sighs into his hands. 

He has his dissertation to work on, May’s birthday party to plan, he promised Dr. Connor that he would stop by the lab to help out with that experiment, and he’d really like to get home and have sex with his wife. But instead, he’s stuck here listening to a bunch of literal heroes in a figurative dick measuring contest. 

(And, yes, Bucky could definitely K.O. the Thing if he punched him hard enough. His arm is made out of vibranium. D’uh. And, no, of course it shouldn’t count if Dr. Strange uses magic, but he doesn’t doubt that it’s possible. C’mon, guys.)

Except, now the room has suddenly gone very quiet. 

“Peter?” Natasha asks. Her mouth curls into a curious smile. ”What’s that ring on your hand, there?”

“Huh?” Peter moves his hand from his face and looks down at the thin, gold band on his finger. He tentatively touches his thumb to the underside of the ring, giving it a small, half-spin. “Oh, this? It’s, uh, it’s, you know, a wedding ring. So. Surprise.”

Everyone erupts with a flurry of questions. 

Rhodes: “You got married?”

Carol: “When?”

Thor: “Why didn’t you invite us to the festivities? I would have bought you a goat.”

Clint: “I knew you were two-timing us, Petey. It’s that Storm guy, right? I get it. He’s hot. No pun intended.”

Peter sighs again. He tries to answer them one by one. 

“I got married. We eloped last month. There were no festivities, so I don’t know what we would have done with a goat. Is that an Asgardian thing? Like for luck? Because then that might have been kind of cool. Maybe Ned should have goats at his wedding. I don’t want to buy him a goat, though. Can you rent goats? That’s probably a thing, right? Would a farm let you do that? Just rent some out for a few hours? Wait, did you mean to eat? Because that’s the opposite of cool, man.”

Natasha saves him from his rambling by asking, “So, assuming that you didn’t actually tie the knot with Johnny, who’s the lucky girl, Pete?”

“Oh,” he says. His face brightens up into a smile. “MJ.”

“Couldn’t seal the deal with Black Cat, huh?” Sam asks. 

“I--what? What? No.”

Scott walks in then, holding a sandwich from the deli a few blocks over. “Sorry, I’m late. What’d I miss?”

Clint smirks. “Spider-Kid got married.”

Under his breath, Peter says, “Spider-Man. I’m a man.”

“You’re married?” Scott asks around a mouthful of pastrami on rye and a few flecks of mustard spray from his lips and land on Peter’s hand. “How old are you? Who let you get married? Are you even allowed to drive? Can you vote?”

“Dude,” Peter says, offended at both the yellowy glob of spit on his hand and the fact that Scott thinks he’s still a child. He grabs for a tissue to wipe off his hand. “I’m twenty-four.”

“You’re twenty-four?!” he exclaims disbelievingly, as if Peter is even younger than he thought. This time, a chunk of bread falls out of his mouth. “Banner, did you know the kid is only twenty-four?”

Bruce adjusts his glasses, but doesn’t look up from his calculations. “Yes. I was aware.”

“Sam? Rhodes?” Scott asks. 

Rhodey lifts an eyebrow. “You met him, like, ten years ago. How old did you think he was then?”

“I don’t know. Kid had a mask on.” Scott mulls this over with a shrug and takes another bite of his sandwich. And then his eyes grow wide and his mouth pops open in surprise, releasing both bread and meat this time. “You were fourteen in Berlin? Jesus. Now I feel bad.”

“I was fifteen,” he says, kind of defensively. 

“That’s not better. My kid is fifteen,” Scott says. He looks around the table. “Any one of you tries to recruit my peanut and I’m gonna go subatomic up your ass.”

Peter groans. This briefing is officially a disaster. 

“Hey, Peter,” Natasha says. 

“What?” he asks, slightly annoyed. 

She grins back at him, flicking his nose. “Congratulations.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also, yeah, so I essentially gave Michelle Peter's job from the comics (and, uh, every other iteration of Spider-Man?) and made Pete a straight up scientist. Come at me, I don't care.
> 
> (I legit don't know how to make this note appear at the end of the first chapter and not the second, but, I mean, it's not a big deal. Cookie if you made it this far.)


End file.
